New Chapter! Love to know what you think of it and my further building of Caleb's character. Please R&R, helps me know that you're liking the story and where it's going. And feel free to catch me on my tumblr - erikablair
Harry stood in front of the maître d' with the Dursley's trying not to fiddle with the cuffs of his suit jacket. He wasn't used to wearing anything other than Dudley's cast-offs, and the disturbingly perfect fitting suit felt like a second skin he wasn't able to peel off. He tried to ignore his Uncle's lascivious looks, opting instead to look around the restaurant admiring its design and subtle shows of grandeur. As the maître d' led them to their table, Harry was resigned to following them at a short distance and noticed with distaste how Vernon had arranged the seating so Harry would have to sit on Vernon's left side, between him and Petunia.
With a slight twist to his lips, Harry gracefully placed himself down into the chair, holding in a shudder as he felt Vernon's eyes rake over his form. Petunia's face was pinched in displeasure, and Dudley was looking between Vernon and Harry with an expression between agitation and nausea, no doubt replaying Harry's words from the park. Harry refused to acknowledge the eyes on him, instead familiarising himself with the place settings, remembering the etiquette lessons that Caleb had practically beat into him the few times he ate over at his house.
Caleb lived with his grandmother most of the time as his father was often on business trips either interstate or internationally. He never asked what Caleb's father did for work as it seemed a rather touchy subject for the boy, and Harry was more than happy to oblige Caleb's need for secrecy. Even though it seemed quaint and cosy, there were definitive aspects of wealth at his grandmother's cottage; rich fabrics, handcrafted furniture, and expensive art pieces dotted the home. Caleb seemed completely comfortable around such luxury, absentmindedly telling him about the works and their history behind it if he dared to ask. Harry felt extremely out of place in such a home, but he eventually relaxed at Caleb's casual demeanour.
Caleb's grandmother was a feisty older woman with a thick Irish accent and silver-spun hair, often telling stories of old about the Fae that populated the Irish landscape, spinning tales of horror and magic, a world forbidden in the Dursley household. She became almost like a surrogate grandmother to Harry, often fussing over him when he was over and lamenting on how thin he was and how she needed to fatten him up. She'd even let him borrow a few books about the Fae and other magical creatures she'd said used to habitat Ireland and still do if she were to be believed. He had coveted and cared for them deeply but could only keep them for a short time, for he feared what would happen to them if the Dursley's knew about their existence in their home. She'd even begun teaching him Gaelic, a language that felt like honey on his tongue and lent him language books for him to self-study. Caleb found this interest highly amusing as he had had to be threatened even to take lessons, let alone dedicate extra study time to the language when he was younger.
Harry catalogued each piece of cutlery by knowing what each implement was for and for which course. He didn't know if the Dursley's even learned the proper etiquette for eating at a high-class restaurant, but he refused to embarrass himself in such a public setting. He surreptitiously tried to adjust his shirt collar, the design being more high-necked than usual; no doubt a purposeful design choice to hide the bruises that often coated his throat.
He was brought out of his thoughts by their waiter addressing him; he blinked owlishly at him, prompting the waiter to repeat his question about if he would like a drink. Harry flushed in embarrassment and replied that water was fine for him. The dinner continued with Harry's jumpiness increasing through the meal; Vernon had made a note to continually brush his leg with his own throughout and, in the breaks between courses, rested a hand on Harry's thigh, hidden by the long tablecloth. Vernon squeezed his leg in warning whenever Harry made too large of a flinch, uncaring that his skin was probably littered with finger-shaped bruises before the main course was even done.
Petunia looked between the two of them with an inscrutable look, an occasional flash of anger showing when her gaze landed on Harry's increasingly uncomfortable expression, resentful that her husband's gaze was wondering and the lustful looks he kept sending the boy. Dudley looked increasingly green watching them, his appetite decreasing to the point where Petunia had questioned whether he was feeling alright. He stuttered that he was fine, unable to tear his eyes away from the interactions between his father and cousin. Dudley didn't want to believe Harry, but his words in the park kept echoing in his head. Pushing away from the plate in front of him, he rushed to the bathroom to vacate his stomach. He couldn't stand watching them anymore.
Petunia watched Dudley practically run from the table, shooting a look of antipathy at Harry before following her son to calm him down. Vernon watched his wife and son leave the table dispassionately, too focused on the thigh clasped beneath his hand to care about them or their weak sensibilities. He felt the muscles jump beneath his fingers as he began to firmly stroke upwards and inwards, the boy trying to ignore his Uncle's movements determinedly. But watching the boy's throat frequent bobs, the slight shake in hands as he pierced his food, and the sweat building at his brow, Vernon knew his actions were affecting the boy more than he wanted him to know.
Vernon squeezed Harry's inner thigh cruelly, bringing slight tears to Harry's eyes from the pain. Smirking, Vernon leaned towards Harry intimately, his breath coasting his ears.
"You're being a bit too obvious, Harry," Vernon softly growled, "do I need to teach you to be more compliant?"
Harry breath hitched as Vernon's fingers dug even deeper into the soft flesh of his groin and shook his head vehemently.
"No, Uncle Vernon," Harry softly replied, "I'll be more…" obedient? Yielding? "-still," Harry finally settled on.
"Hmmm", hummed Vernon, "I suppose that's for the best in this setting. But Harry," Vernon leaned even closer, his lips brushing the shell of his ear, "I do plan on making you move eventually."
Before the moment could stretch, Petunia began to reapproach the table, Dudley following behind her at a sedate pace with his head down, refusing to look across the table at his father or Harry. Vernon leaned away from Harry smoothly, unfazed by his wife's glare that she sent to the two of them, focusing her hostility almost exclusively on her cowed nephew. After a few tense moments, Petunia and Dudley returned to eating their meals in a subdued manner. Vernon gorged himself uncaring about the propriety or the thoughts running through his wife's or son's mind. Harry, already struggling to eat the food in front of him, stared aimlessly at his plate, absently playing with his food to make it seem he had eaten more than he had.
A commotion at the restaurant's front broke Harry out of his self-induced stupor, causing him to look towards the entrance curiously. He noticed the waiters become more animated as the news on who had come in entered their ears, and even a few patrons straightened up. He wondered if some kind of celebrity had entered the restaurant, not that he would know who they were if it was. An older man entered the restaurant with a gorgeous buxom blonde hanging off his arm. He stood tall at 6'2, with thin light brown hair styled away from his face; he didn't look like a man who smiled much, the lines on his face indicating a life full of anger and grief rather than laughter. His ice-blue eyes scanned the restaurant coldly, and Harry saw a deep scar that stretched from his forehead to his cheek, running through his right eye like a slash.
The maître d' showed the couple to what seemed to be their usual table, the table beside theirs. It was only as Harry finally managed to pull his eyes from the man that Harry noticed a familiar figure trailing after the couple and scrunched his face in confusion, Caleb? Caleb cut a striking presence in his coal-black suit, his usually messy, dirty blonde hair neatly combed back. He stood tall, an aloof expression on his face, so different to the customarily animated boy Harry had come to care for. His azure eyes did not stray too far from the man in front of him, but as they reached their table, Caleb gave a brief skim of his surroundings and stopped seeing Harry. Harry saw Caleb's face tighten upon seeing who he was sitting next to; clearly, Harry's descriptions of Vernon had been accurate enough for Caleb to recognise him.
Seeing where Caleb's gaze was, the man leaned over to quietly discuss why he watched the boy so intently. After some tense conversation, the two approached the table leaving the woman at the table alone. The restaurant quietened upon seeing the movement, with even the waitstaff pausing to watch the oncoming scene. They came to stand by Harry's chair, prompting Harry to stand up, hastily pushing off his Uncle's hand upon seeing his friend approach.
"Caleb," Harry greeted, warmth bleeding into his tone.
Caleb gave a nod and a quick smile to Harry before subtly gesturing to the man beside him. "Harry, I would like to introduce you to my father, Niall's Hammond," Caleb formally introduced.
Harry blinked in surprise before thrusting his hand out to shake the proffered one of Caleb's father, "Nice to meet you, Sir; it's good to see you back in Surrey."
Niall's shot a piercing look towards Caleb from the corner of his eye before taking Harry's hand in his and giving it a brief but firm shake.
"I've heard a lot from my son about you; you are a fine friend to him," Niall's remarked.
"Uh, thank you, Sir. Caleb is a good friend to me as well."
Niall's gave him a nod before looking Harry up and down, a small soft smile gracing his features, "my mother was right; you do need fattening up."
Harry blushed slightly in embarrassment but responded with a small smile of his own at the man's quiet laugh.
"Won't you join us, Harry?" Niall's asked, gesturing towards his table. "I would love to get to know more about the boy my son holds in such high esteem."
Before Harry could answer, he felt his Uncle's hand settled heavily on his shoulder, making him cringe faintly, a movement Caleb and his father zeroed in on immediately.
"Terribly sorry," Vernon replied with oily politeness, "but as you can see, Harry is here having a family dinner."
Niall's smiled tightened at Vernon's disrespectful tone but gave a mocking nod in acquiesce, "of course, I wouldn't want to disturb such a happy family dinner," he sarcastically remarked, noting the expressions of the boy and his family. "You will have to join us for dinner sometime at the manor while I'm here, Harry," Niall's continued sincerely, "I would appreciate getting to know a young man such as yourself."
"Thank you, Sir; I would be glad to join you," replied Harry, ignoring Vernon's warning squeeze to his shoulder.
Niall's nodded happily at Harry before setting back towards his table, leaving Caleb, Harry, and Vernon to face each other.
"Harry is a very good friend of mine, Mr Dursley," remarked Caleb, his tone cold and piercing, "I hope you treat him well; I take great care of my friends."
Caleb stared challengingly into Vernon's eyes before turning to Harry, his gaze softening considerably, "tomorrow?" he asked.
Harry nodded before Vernon could say anything, and Caleb walked off after giving one more warning look towards Vernon. Harry's knees almost buckled as Vernon pushed him down into his chair, he could feel the rage permeating from the man beside him, but Harry couldn't regret his actions. He'd shown Vernon he wouldn't be some shrinking violet; he would fight him at every opportunity, he would not let him win.
